Cowboys and Demons
by Purple Puffer Fish
Summary: Sequel! Far from any place that would know his name, Jake Lonergan is stumbled upon by a group of violent outlaws. Without a horse and plagued by the baleful presence of a contemptible woman, it becomes apparent that all is not what it seems. ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.
1. Unwanted Confrontations

**Disclaimer: The characters with the exceptions of probable OC's are not my own, in fact, they will never be, so don't arrest me please (dry expression)...**

**A/N: When you pair extreme tiredness to the night when you see the movie, you have this: probably the first story in the category. Genre-wise, two selections really can't cover it in its entirety. It's a bizarre mixture of a western/action/adventure/friendship/suspense/supernatural, plus a little bit of horror...and let's not forget a substantial dose of romance now! Ya can't properly have a sequel to such an awesome film without it! **

**But, my dear friends, I know what you are thinking. Yes, you are thinking "No! An OC story? You murderer!" I can assure you, my acquaintances of FanFiction, that I have tried my utmost hardest to make this story into something not focused exclusively on the relationship of the cannon character and the OC. Clearly, said original character is female, and I have worked hard to assure myself and others that no Mary Sue shall be found here! It may seem like it in the first few chapters, but during those I am simply developing the plot before we take the literary plunge together into a vastly different place than what you undoubtedly first assumed. I take any sort of advice into deep consideration, and very much love getting reviews! I hope you enjoy this endeavor of mine!**

**Chapter 1 - Unwanted Confrontations **

Jake Lonergan traveled unaccompanied. It was only natural - he truly did live up to the rarely detected first part of his last name. The pronunciation got them every time.

The solitude of the desert was calming, the utter silence, fulfilling. The light breezes of early evening washed across his face like a welcomed emotion, taking away the heat that the midday sun had brought to him, if only for a little while. By force of habit at this thought, he raised two fingers to the brim of his hat, and tipped it back down to its customary position, for it often became askew, jostled around by the sometimes harsh movements of the horse beneath him. He rode on to places unknown with no intentions; no purpose, his services no longer needed for the town that had only before the problems began harbored scorn for him. He was a free man.

His horse was a good one, handpicked from a herd of strong-bred males, shaped and molded over the years for life in the desert. When mulling lightly over various names he could privately refer to the animal by, he had settled on "Paytah", a title of the Native American Sioux tribe origin meaning '_fire_'. It fit the stallion well, the pace of the creature as that of a wildfire. The horse was essential to life on the move, for the desert was harsh, and memories of a trek across it a long while ago with a woman in his arms reminded him just how much wear it had on a man. Water was scarce; rivers few and far between, more so than occasional towns, no more recurrent than a needle in a haystack. Sometimes he would ride into one, hoping to get some good quality food, only to find that it was abandoned, long gone corpses of its previous inhabitants marring the streets. Needless to say, he was able to continue on his way without feeling like he should stay the night...

When settlements were naught in sight, he shot jackrabbits. Large Antelope Jackrabbits that were fast on their feet and hard to catch unawares. But by some means, he got by on them. He always carried enough bullets with him to last two weeks, the longest he had ever been away from a permanent town. When he arrived in one, he would always get more, selling the hides from the rabbits he had killed for money. It was a constant cycle, repetitive, but necessary. He had learned to deal with it. It was his life after all.

One particular night, the fifth night since his last contact with other human beings to be precise, he dismounted his steed and tied it to a sturdy tree near a seemingly secure rock formation. After removing what little he needed, he sat down beneath it, removing his hat and placing it beside him, simultaneously opening the pouch of food that he had taken from its place upon the horse's saddle. Staring into it blankly, he found that there was only enough rations left for, at best, one or two more days if he let himself go slightly hungry. He sighed and took a piece of the bread in hand from within, pulling the draw strings on the bag closed and sitting it next to his hat. As he ate this small bit of sustenance he watched the sun set, distractedly wondering how long it would be until he found another comfortable place to spend the night. The life of a roving man left no room for comfort when it came to sleep, and after days of sleeping on the hard ground, a practice that the toughest of the tough had done for centuries, he always anticipated a genuine bed to rest in. Just for one night, of course. Staying in a town any longer than that could become problematic, as he had discovered that fateful night in Absolution.

Finishing his sad excuse for a dinner, he crossed his arms behind his head and lay them on the rolled up blanket he used for a pillow. The stars were only just beginning to appear. They made the discomfort of the ground worth it, as they had for so many other in his position. Out there above there was a world unknown, a world where alien life forms thrived and preyed on each other, and where the good citizens of earth were a race to be plundered for undesirable utilization. To the beings beyond visual range, humans were weaklings. That is, until the inhabitants of Absolution and a menagerie of others fought against them. But one thing was for certain, if there were more demonic creatures out there past the stars, they surely didn't know the same things as the particular ones who already had come to earth knew. It was just a thought that was ever present in his mind.

Sighing deeply again, he closed his eyes after a myriad of time observing the stars, and slowly drifted off into a light sleep.

...

...

"_Jake..." A haunting voice called. "Jake..."_

_His eyes shot open. His breathing quickened. He had no idea as to where he was. There was a bright light above, and for a terrifying moment he thought it to be the light that plagued his past, but it wasn't, it was simply the sun's effect on tired eyes. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, no longer in the desert, but in an endless field of soft, green grass. He looked around, quite internally bothered. His rough hands ran through the long grass, remembering what it felt like after so long in the sand and sharp bushes. He blinked, unsure of what reality was anymore._

_"Jake..." The voice resounded again, distant yet so close. "Help me, Jake..."_

_He was to his feet in an instant. "Who's there?" He demanded, on edge. "Are you hurt?"_

_"Help..."_

_He heard it again and tried to find where it came from, but it was all over, infinite, eerie, most of all, female. Somewhere, there was a woman in trouble, that or she was just a figment of his own mind. "Where are you?" He said a but louder, spinning around._

_"Here..." It was directly behind him._

_When he turned to meet the voice's owner, he was greeted with a sight that caused his knees to feel week. A sight that made him nauseous. _

_Ella Swenson stood there, the wrist band she had taken from his grasped in her hands, facing him. Her stare was lifeless, otherworldly, her eyes unblinking. He took a faltering step towards her, but stopped dead when he saw the grass around her begin to move like it was alive. From it came the demons, the aliens who had taken the loved ones from the townspeople, distorted and hunched. Their backs were littered with the arrows and spears of the Chiricahua people, their faces mangled from the bullets that had been repeatedly shot at them. They rose up higher on their strong hind legs, not noticing him standing there, eyes only trained on the woman they surrounded._

_"Ella..." He murmured, and she smiled sadly, just before she was engulfed in the sea of bodies that overtook her with lethal intent. He watched, unable to move out of his own horror, weapons nonexistent and face contorted with a blend of rage and grief. The monsters were ripping her apart before his very eyes. Her blood stained the grass, her cries were unheard through the chorus of growls and roars from her attackers. He shook his head slowly out of pure disbelief. There was no possible way she could have met an end of that magnitude. The ship was destroyed, and she had been the one to do it._

_Just as he thought these things, a burst of frighteningly white light awoke him from the dream_.

...

...

The desert was naturally cold in the middle of the night, but when he returned from the appalling place that had been his nightmare and saw the group of faces hovering above him, the current temperature was the last thing on his mind. He felt the boot collide with the side of his ribcage and scowled. There were guns trained on him, many guns. Through the darkness he counted six men, each equally repulsive even in the minimal light.

"Well..." drawled one of them, "looks like we found an outsider, boys." 

_..._

_..._

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please do review if you will, and I shall write another chapter ASAP for you. Good day to you all :D**


	2. The Way of the Peacemaker

**A/N: Why hello there! No reviews for the last chapter, but that's all right! Please do give me some feedback though, I would oh so very much appreciate it! Here's the next chapter! I got to start using the protagonist's name more, seeing as if would be utterly confusing if I didn't Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2 - The Way of the Peacemaker**

The voice that stated the observation aloud was rough and dehydrated, as if the owner had not ingested a single drop of water in an entire day. Ugly - even in the dark - dragged out, and with a large amount of scraggly facial hair, the man was the epitome of an outlaw, even more so than Jake himself had apparently been at one time. He seemed to have no concept of physical hygiene, and reeked of alcohol; he and the others with him. Jake had sat up where he was by the time the man who he thought to be the leader spoke again, ordering him to get to his feet or lose them. Predictably, he who the rogue wanderers were ordering around stayed right where he way, staring up at them all in a patronizing, lazy manner. He would not be demanded to do anything, nor would he sink to their level. He just needed some more time to weigh the odds. Time he considerably lacked.

The leader cursed maliciously, his boot finding another mark near the same place it had before. "Get up! I don't care a continental whether you want to or not! Get your dirty carcass up off the ground or we'll do it for you!"

Jake's mouth thinned. "Do what you want, then. Makes no difference to me." He spat pointedly at their feet then for emphasis. But just when he was about to silence himself, he felt overly compelled to add, "My horse - take it with you."

"Oh, we _will_. Do you really think we would let such an animal go to waste?" The leader motioned to the pair of men on either side of Jake, who ripped him up off the ground in a heartbeat. Another took his hat into their possession and placed it upon their head while he looked on, hiding his scorn behind a mask of noiseless indifference. "All righty boys, we'll take him back with us and deal with him at the camp."

Jake could not ever verbally describe the shame he felt as they jostled him towards their alleged camp, a shame never customarily experienced by one of his aggressive abilities. He could have fought them off, yes, but risking injuries out in an environment that he knew not was risky, and the next town could be days away. Paytah was a miracle worker, but needed rest and time to catch his breath, as most running animals did, thus ruling out a nonstop gallop through the harsh climate. The more he thought about it, the more Jake became irritated with himself. Certainly, he found aggravation with those who had awoken him from his light sleep - no matter how thankful he was about their ending his nightmare - but even more with his own lack of awareness when it came to hiding himself and his horse better for the evening. If he had only done so, they would probably have passed him on by, oblivious to his presence in their territory. He made a mental note to make sure and put this new found consciousness into action after he had managed an escape, which he _fully_ planned on.

As he was escorted roughly past his horse, the leader paused and ran a hand down over the animal's head. A contented sigh escaped him. "I think this will make an excellent gift..."

"Yeah. No worries, Carson, this'll get you off the hook for sure. Ain't no crowbait here." One of the men leading the procession commented.

"Let's hope so for the sake of our new buddy here." The one called Carson replied grimly referring to the taciturn man they had captured. "_He_ might just get eaten alive."

Jake suppressed the urge to stiffen in posture from the declaration, curious as to whom they were talking about with such foreboding, yet not entirely wanting to come into contact with them. He took one more longing stare at Paytah before they shoved him on his way, his hands previously bound behind his back, much to his great frustration, nearly violent by the time they had finished and made sure that the rope they used had almost cut into his wrists. There were the civilized outlaws and then there were the complete opposite. These were the latter.

"A bit offish this one is, ain't he?" The one man gripping his right shoulder said to the one on the left conversationally.

"He's well played out, I would be expecting such offishness. Just as well as he doesn't shin out, and Carson doesn't beat us, we keep our opinions to ourselves."

Jake felt a smirk twitch on his lips, nearly becoming evident, but their words rang true. He was, in fact keeping himself reserved, but only for a time. _As if running would be a doable option right now_...He continued to remind himself, picturing the pain he would have to deal with if he was wounded in his escape. No, he would wait.

He would wait until a time like no other presented itself.

...

...

The specified camp wasn't as large as Jake had assumed it would be when his 'captors' had first mentioned it. It was because of this that it didn't surprise him that he had never encountered the group before, for the desert was vast, and the amount of people, few. After all, he was only one man, easily hidden amongst the endless mesas and canons, or at least up until that night when he had been stumbled upon in a moment that could only be brought about by sick irony. He walked silently along with the camp's inhabitants because of this, feeling horrid, but biding his time nonetheless. Still, he wished not to kick up a row, so to speak, and kept his face down, dreadfully exposed without the brim of his hat to shield his face. He heard faint music, and his eyes searched out the source, finding it to be coming from a fire.

The rest of the group sat around it as the two men holding him brought him in closer. One, whose back was to Jake, played what appeared to be a banjo and the others were situated in various stages of comfort, few speaking. All stopped, however when they noticed their leader returning from his travels, purpose still unknown to Jake. Carson drew their attention to his recently acquired hostage almost immediately, and their eyes bored into the restrained man, demanding answers about him without words. They were a judgmental lot, it seemed, but one could only expect that from a group of wanted men. It was more than likely a rare day when another human was brought before them, even rarer still a human who was sill _alive_. Carson went on to explain how they had come to obtain the man they now paraded in front of the others like some sort of living trophy. After the story had been completed, blown drastically out of proportion as expected, Jake watched in solemn tranquility as his horse, his wildfire was lead onto the scene by the man who had taken his hat. The animal put up little fight, but even a fool could tell Paytah was uneasy about the situation, accustomed to solitude.

"We also took from this man his horse, not a hint shoddy and an all around fine ride." Jake observed him as his eyes became focused on a particular individual in the group, hidden partially by the ghostly shadows the fire created. "I got it for _you_, Quince."

Mumblings resounded around; Jake endeavored to get even the slightest hint as to what they were saying, but could not pick up any of their words. His treasured horse was taken around and the lead rope placed in the hands of the one referred to as Quince, who stood to stroke Paytah's head with their free hand. The loyal animal nudged the hand that touched it back, making Jake mentally roll his eyes and think: _oh yes...very loyal indeed_...He continued to watch as the person to which Paytah had been given said something very quietly and lead the horse away, becoming naught but two vanishing silhouettes in the darkness.

Seeing the stranger disappear with what was rightfully his ignited a will in him to know. He would find out who Quince was by morning, and what they were to do with Paytah.

...

...

He was given no food, but thankfully some water, the only civilized treatment he was given before literally being chained to a lone tree and left on his own. He wondered where they had even managed to get a chain long enough to facilitate a human being, when it occurred to him that most of them had probably escaped from prison anyhow, bringing with them their shackles. His wrists remained bound behind his back, one ankle constricted so tightly with the chain he feared it would lose all circulation and be rendered unusable. He lay there on the rough ground as he had done so many times before, but found it far less comfortable when he could not move his arms. Of course, he was still strong and durable, tolerance high and mind prepared for such circumstances, but even he could not deny the fact that it was going to be a long night.

...

...

Morning came unexpectedly, the light awaking him from a dreamless, barren sleep he had seemingly only just found. By then, he could not feel his arms, numb from the odd angle they had been placed in for an extended period of time, and the skin around his ankle had begun to turn a most queer shade of purple. His other leg was by far the most contented of his limbs, neither bound nor held back by a chain. He took the opportunity to survey the state of affairs, eying closely the manner in which they had secured the chain to the thick trunk of the tree. Ah, it was not as difficult as he had originally thought it to be. With only a fairly significant amount of force, it could be broken, but such plans would have to wait until the next nightfall. Then came the problem of locating his horse once again. "Quince" probably had Paytah even as Jake considered the prospect.

Another hour passed, and one by one, he caught glimpses of the camp members stirring about. He made no effort to get their attention sitting with his back to the tree without speaking. At last, one man took notice of him and walked over to him cautiously. He was a skinny excuse for a male living in the desert - no substance on his small frame to speak of, almost dainty. He sported a head of cropped, blonde hair and wore only a vest and shabby trousers. His ribs were nearly visible. If he was what a typical rip looked like in the group, Jake could hardly wait to get a look at the rest of them.

"Hey there..." The man greeted sheepishly, keeping his distance. "Can I free you without being scared for any of my vitals?"

Jake studied him, finding no ill intent, then nodded slowly, moving away from the tree so that the scrawny man could work at the chain.

"Names' Riley." He said in a friendly sort of way as he went about the task of letting Jake go. "What's yours?"

Jake merely stared at him before breaking his silence and muttering, "None of your business."

Riley stopped what he was doing and met the other man's gaze, looking only the slightest bit affronted. "That's...that's fine then. I won't press you. You don't even want to be here anyway. Why should you tell us anything?" There was no sarcasm in the statement. Jake decided that he would give this Riley fellow a chance. He appeared to be a good enough person, perhaps even a future ally...

When his ankle was ridden of the chain, Jake stood, and surprisingly, his wrists were untied. He cracked his knuckles one by one, and rolled his neck, Riley watching with quiet inspection.

"Thanks." Was all he said, before walking out in the direction of the other camp inhabitants.

"No! Wait!" His shoulder was caught by a bony hand, and he turned only just to look back. "You can't just go waltzing on in! I need to be with you or they'll shoot you as an escaping prisoner!"

Jake scoffed lightly. "As if they don't know what it feels like."

"I don't make the rules - " Riley started knowingly, but was interrupted.

"Do what you have to."

Riley took the captive through the group of rousing people and to a place where he could wash up. Standing very near to Jake, his escort focused on something else as he threw some water over his face and rubbed away the dirt with his hands. He let the water drip off for a long moment, eyes closed, before opening them and taking in the sights around him.

The first thing he saw was most peculiar.

He saw Paytah, not a hundred feet away, walking around like some sort of thoroughbred. But it was not only this that staggered him, but also the fact that upon his back, there sat a woman, wide brimmed hat shading her face from the sun, _controlling _the horse like it belonged to _her_. She gripped the reigns tightly, pulling them far to drastically for a creature who had always been aloud to go where it pleased. What was worse was, Paytah was fully compliant, catering to her every wordless command and motion of her gloved hands. Jake had never seen his horse so submissive to anyone other than he, himself. Truth be told, it was all too unnerving.

"Hey..." Riley said, cutting through the haze of unease his thoughts had brought him. "You all right there?"

He tore his eyes away and looked back down at the bucket of water, lifting and dropping his shoulders once. It was clear now that Quince was, in fact, a woman, and she now owned Paytah, training him in ways that Jake would never have.

"Ohh no." Riley said suddenly. "No." He repeated firmly when Jake had raised his head to look at him. "Give up now and save your soul!"

Jake's brow furrowed quizzically in response.

"I know what you were thinking..." Riley dared to explain, eyes wide. "That girl there" - he tilted his head towards the woman on the horse - "has caused many a man to go up the spout. She scoops them in, and then kills them. _Literally_."

Jake looked at her once more, wanting very much to tell Riley he was sorely mistaken, but nothing would come to him. He now knew where to find his horse though, when he put into action his escape.

Some more planning was in order.

...

...

**Welllll? You like? Please do drop me a line! ^_^ Peace!**


	3. Methods of Escape

**A/N: As you probably noticed, I only just changed the title, seeing as before I had little idea where this was going. But...now I do! Hence, an all around informative title, yes? Yes. Wrote this under the inspiration of Bon Jovi's **_**Blaze of Glory**_**, and Switchfoot's **_**Dark Horses**_**, two awesome songs to be sure.**

**Chapter 3 - Methods of Escape**

"_Miller_!" came the antagonistic male yell, causing Riley to spin around like a small, skittish animal. He had been in the process of mulling over how to convince them to let Jake have some food when the two men had both heard the voice and looked towards its source, though Jake did so with far less animation. Carson advanced upon them, fists clenched and face resembling that of a raging bull. Between his incensed expression and heavy footsteps, he was a sight that would evoke trepidation into a weaker man, but Jake just scoffed inwardly.

_Uglier in the daytime, just like I expected_...He thought, repressing the sneer that threatened to make itself known. It was the afternoon of the second day he had been in the camp, and mercifully, he had not seen Carson's face; he had been out hunting for food with the same band of thugs that had found him.

"Wh-what?" Riley faltered when Carson had come to a harsh halt before them. "Something wrong?"

"Why in Christ's name is he walkin' around like some sorta free range _chicken_?" A finger was pointed accusingly at Jake, who hung back a bit unobtrusively as Carson snarled at his nervous subordinate. "We chained him up last night! _Why did you let him out Miller_?"

Riley raised his hands, a futile attempt to placate Carson. "I was just letting him stretch is all! He's been good! Hasn't tried to run, not one bit!"

"_No_ Miller, you don't get it do you? You and that "good heart" of yours...This guy is on the shoot, and you're so wretchedly oblivious it's sad!" He swore loudly for emphasis, drawing even more attention to the scene than there had been before. Jake crossed his arms and focused on his feet, until another, unfamiliar tone cut through the tension that had arose.

"Carson giving you trouble again Riley?" It was a smooth voice, yet had a quality to it that made it sound very serious and even slightly on the threatening side. Jake's eyes flitted up to see a man who looked very much like Carson, but more distinguished with an almost clean-shaven face, at least having some sense of cleanliness where it counted. Riley nodded to answer the question, perking up at the sudden other presence.

"Case, I swear I didn't touch him! He had it coming!"

Ignoring Carson's protesting against the issue, Case turned his attention to Jake, and his gaze hardened. "This the one?"

"Yeah..." Carson replied indignantly. "Ain't he shady lookin'?"

"Thoroughly," muttered Case under his breath, taking a step closer to Jake. He had a deep, repugnant scar running from his forehead down to his jawline that had long since healed, Jake noticed it straight away. "What's your name?"

Riley piped up, "He won't tell!" This true proclamation was followed by a grunt as Carson's elbow found its way into his chest.

"Oh, come on, you have to have one," Case coaxed, holding the steely eyes of the camp's new hostage. They remained locked in an deep, stoic stare for a long moment, but Case let himself gradually look away. "Was my brother hard on you when he found you?" He asked absentmindedly. Jake's suspicions were justified by this conformation; their relationship as brothers was the reason for their physical similarities. Case was clearly the elder, but had the same stringy blonde hair as Carson, except his was tied back, while his younger brothers hung messily around his face. Either way, Jake did not answer, not even giving a subtle head motion or gesture to let Case assume anything.

It was because of his utter lack of response that Case sniggered lightly, once again joining in a battle of the eyes. His shown with hidden malice, and it was then that Jake understood that Case was a very dangerous man, indeed.

"What type of mudsill are you, huh?" Carson's older brother drew, crossing his arms to match the captive only feet away from him. "What kind of..._low-life_?"

Surly as ever, Jake leaned forward and said gruffly, "A real good one."

Case exhaled and backed slowly away, stroking his chin contemplatingly. He looked to his brother and Riley, who watched, temporarily giving up whatever opposition they had to one another. Finally coming to some verdict it seemed, Case frowned and stated to the two spectating men, "I don't like this one. Chain him up every evening, and during the day, don't let him out of your sight, or I'll personally castrate you in the most vile way possible." And it did not take a schooled man to know that Case was dead serious.

Carson, glaring, followed Case as he left without further word.

Riley swallowed loudly, as if he had been holding back such an action since the two brothers had arrived. "Sweet Jesus," he garbled, "please don't try and run on me...I value what I have!"

Jake allowed the slightest shadow of a smirk. "All men with wits do," he concluded, drawing a small chortle from Riley.

"Would you look at that? Guy's got himself a sense of humor!"

The smirk faded into nothingness as Riley's voice grew faint.

He had been keeping a close eye on the brothers, specifically Case, when he saw the woman who had taken his horse from him. The woman called Quince. A will to take back what was rightfully his emerged again from the cage he locked it in, intensified when he took in the way she walked, head held high and pride in her gait. Pride for her possessions and freedom. Pride for her rank, for no one looked at her in a way that would induce any bitterness from her sickly striking self. And ultimately, pride for the elder brother, who she drew close to, and paying no regard for those around her who she certainly deemed lesser, kissed with a passion that only came from the satisfaction of wrapping one around one's finger.

Jake cursed himself for his over-analyzing, feeling as though he had let his reckless thoughts of resentment distort everything.

Case pulled away from her only just, and whispered something into her ear; something that made her peer over his shoulder, something unreadable flickering across her face even from a distance. She eyed Jake for a few seconds and that only, releasing Case and turning away, like she had been repulsed by the very sight of the prisoner whom the man she had displayed clear public affection to had brought her attention to. Regrettably, Jake's antipathy for her treatment of Paytah caused him to linger too long in his scrutiny, and Riley discerned it for what he had assumed it was earlier.

"Again, huh?" He sighed. "Look, buddy, I can't stop you from looking, but you hafta understand that she's not a good - "

"No. _You_ understand," Jake went on with his habit of interruption, reality palpable. "That _shake _has my horse." He refused to call her a 'whore'. The word brought back too many memories; memories of she who was only known by that designation, and not her name. _Alice_...So _lovely_, yet so monstrously taken from the world of the living.

Riley's eyes widened, and he was speechless for some time, his mouth ajar. "They gave your ride to _her_?"

"Carson did."

"Well, does Case know?"

"I would think..."

Trying to be cheerful but failing miserably, Riley commented, "At least you won't need a horse now, eh?"

Truth be told, Jake's patience was thinning, with everyone and everything. The absolute obliviousness his chaperone had with his predicament wasn't helping either.

...

...

Despite Riley Miller's affability, he was not a man to cross those in authority, and chained Jake back up that night, albeit a bit halfheartedly. He made sure that the chain was not so tight that it cut off the circulation in the prisoner's leg, and that his hands were bound behind his back in a way that would keep his arms from going numb too quickly. Riley was also able to get him some food and a small amount of water ahead of his re-confinement. How he had been able to talk anyone into giving him any extra nourishment was beyond Jake's comprehension, though with so much virtue it wasn't exceedingly difficult to believe. It was too bad, that after all was said and done, his congeniality would probably cost him.

He waited until he was sure the last of the inhabitants had passed out from their drunken exploits, and the lights of the fires dimmed. Then, moving a rather sizable rock towards him with his foot, he began to work with his bound hands, gradually loosened over the course of the hours of waiting. In that period of time he had been able to do little about the chain, considering there were people very close to him that could hear if he tried anything. He stared blankly into the distance in a state of concentration, twisting his wrists around incessantly to be rid himself of the thick rope that held them. He could have tried to slice through it with the rock he had shrewdly kicked near the tree on his way back to it for the night, but that would take far more time than he had. The light of the early morning hours would be materializing before long, and he needed to put as much distance between himself and the camp as possible by that point.

After much struggling, the rope dropped free of his wrists, and he rolled them around, decreasing the numbness that had set in after a prolonged stretch of time. He took up the rock subsequently and turned his interest to the chain around his ankle. Jake had watched Riley vigilantly when he fixed it, becoming conscious of the fact that it was not as simple of a task as he thought it to be, a complex series of twists and 'ties', ending at a wide ring that was slack enough to move, but tight enough to not have the ability to be slipped off his booted foot. He examined it methodically, tracing the places where the chain looped inwards around itself, and the place where it connected to the shackle-like circle. Consequently, he knew where to slam the rock down when he did...and it hurt, a lot. The force of the heavy rock on the chain and ring caused them to press painfully down with every blow, but it was worth it in the end. The chain gave in fairly easily, and in the end he was separated from the tree with only the ring and a few barely-connected links hanging from it. He was confident no one had paid the noise any mind, all presumably having a lie-down not far away.

He got to his feet, and took a experimental step to see how much noise from the chain fragment he would have to deal with. It _clinked_ maddeningly, but not loud enough to awaken the sleeping ones. Needless to say, Jake still put down as little pressure as possible on the foot plagued by the leg manacle, starting the painstaking trek through the mass of sleeping and spent bodies. He had been able to, with the help of Riley and some subtle questions, learn where Quince would be keeping his horse. They had been _very_ subtle questions. In any case, he knew where he was headed, and it was too late to turn back - not that a man like Jake would do so in the first place. It was time to move on and abscond from a sort of group which he had, himself, once been the head of, like Case.

He saw his Paytah's silhouette from a distance, tied to a line that ran from one durable bush to another. Jake knew it to be him - all the other horses were together elsewhere. He continued to mind the weight of his right foot, mastering quickly how to move without causing the remaining pieces of the chain to jangle about. Paytah saw Jake before he reached the place where he was tied, and restlessly shifted, pawing at the ground agitatedly.

"Whoa...hey...it's all right." He placed his hands on either side of the animal's head, speaking softly. At the familiar voice and touch, the horse calmed, becoming still. "That's good...that's right." Jake went on in an undertone, moving one hand down Paytah's neck, then moving to release him from the line he was tied to. As he worked at the reigns, he thought to himself that the horse was much like him: unfamiliar and restrained from freedom. "We're gonna leave, just you wait..." He finished aloud.

It was just as he said this that he felt the cold press of metal against his neck, and heard the feminine voice contend, "Sure you are."

Immediately he dropped his arms, very much aware that the person behind him had a gun to his neck.

"Back up slow or your life is lost."

He did so.

"Turn around. Don't try anything."

Again, he did as was requested, and found himself face to face with she who he had looked upon with such aversion he could not describe it. Quince. She held a Winchester rifle in her hands and her face, visible at such a proximity, held no traces of humor at all. Her hat's brim was raised, and she dressed as the men did, but Jake could feel nothing but disgust. Disgust for the current predicament and disgust for who she was. He stared her down, and offhandedly crossed his arms. This small action made her site the rifle closer to him, aimed squarely now at his chest.

"You Quince then?" He stated more then questioned, knowing the answer full well. "You have something that's mine." His tone was dark enough to make another man wish they hadn't crossed him, but she neither flinched or cowered.

"It's not yours _anymore_. You belong to this group now, and they do with you what they want."

Jake scoffed. "Mighty big talk for someone so low. Somebody who sleeps with the boss to get a status..."

The comment got him what he needed, and when she moved again, he caught the barrel of the rifle with both hands, kicked out and caught her ankle with his foot, tripping her up and using his own strength to force her to the ground. He ripped the gun from her grip, flipped it around and slammed the end of the barrel down into her throat, one foot on either side of her body. In the back of his head, no matter how revolting she was to him, he knew he could not seriously injure her in any way. She was a woman. They were not to be treated adversely - only taught how to act right.

"You ready to act civil, Miss?"

His question was answered, though not in a civil way at all, and not by speech. He was greeted with the sensation of two unpleasantly healed boots colliding with his legs. She must have been a flexible thing to manage that was what crossed his mind fleetingly. Quince used the momentary solid surface as a means to push herself far enough back to have standing room, but Jake would have none of it, dropping and all but kneeling on her stomach to stop her. He turned the gun once more, pressing it horizontally into her throat, where the barrel had just been, the pressure his one knee was inflicting on her gut was probably excruciating. Another indication to it was the telltale grunt of pain that had escaped her mouth when the sudden weight of a full grown man had been applied to her abdomen with such force. Jake was completely indifferent on the matter - as long as it wouldn't kill her, he had no opposition to it.

"Get up off me right now or I swear on my father's grave I'll scream for help!" hissed Quince, her hands finding a spot to hold on the rifle at her neck. There would be a bruise from it, he was sure.

"Why? I ain't done nothing yet." The last word he added in somewhat of a fit of frustration. The very thought; how it displeased Jake! "I just want my horse." He went back to his main point quickly, not one to hem and haw.

"No!"

"Then if you don't mind my saying so, Miss, you made this happen on your own." Courtesy was not something he wanted to give her, having no respect for her other than for her gender, but he hoped that she would be able to discern his faint sarcasm through the semblance of candor.

Jake should have known she would do as she said and scream when he saw the look of panic flicker across her face, but he couldn't get his hand over her mouth in time.

"_Help_!" Her voice pierced his ears and he scrambled to his feet, rifle in his hands and taking a single stride back towards Paytah in one swift motion. His fingers struggled with the tied reigns as he began to feel the familiar consciousness that came only from alarm. He heard the sounds of many people rousing and coming to Quince's aid as she continued to cry, sobbing convincingly at that. Still he wondered: if she was as strong as she appeared, why did she feel the need to make others help her? Why not make an attempt to rip him back down to the ground and give him a taste of his own torturous ways and beat him senseless? The confusing ways of women...

"What happened?" The distinctive voice of Carson shouted heatedly. More voices followed. Jake finally freed his horse and took up the reigns in one hand, holding the rifle in a death grip in the other.

"It was that...that _devil_ you found a couple days ago!" She wept, and Jake could tell as he risked a glance at the surrounding faces in his haste that people found the prospect of her expressing such emotion, in a word, odd. "I caught him watching me earlier, it scared me, but I gave it little thought. I just went out to check on my horse - thought I heard some stirring, when he jumped me!"

Anger arose throughout the assembled.

"What's going on here?" It was Case. He shoved his way quickly in to the woman and his brother. Jake placed his foot in the stirrup simultaneously.

"Captive just got free and tried to rape Quince, Case!" Carson spit out like a curse faster than any normal sentence would be formulated.

"He's escaping!" someone alerted the three persons of interest.

Jake was barely able to swing his leg up over Paytah's back when the sound of the gunshot echoed and the bullet hit the ground a millisecond later, directly beside the horse's back hoof. The noise and closeness of the shot spooked the animal, who bucked in terror without warning, throwing his owner to the ground with an agonizing thud before taking off into the desert. Straight away the group was around him, both Case and Carson pointing pistols at his forehead.

"Somebody wanna tell me how this snake got loose?" Case inquired forebodingly.

...

...

**Well, there it is, chapter 3 for you! I liked the way this one turned out, personally! Hope you did too! Please review, or ask questions or anything you wish, and I shall reply post haste!**


	4. Unjust Retribution

**Eternal gratefulness to my two reviewers and all those who alerted and favorited this piece! Haha! But still I must wonder: so many hits, so few reviews? This math makes no sense to me, my friends. No sense whatsoever! Ah well. So sorry this took a bit longer than I thought it would, but I do swear what happens in this chapter has been giving me proverbial heck! There were so many options, yet so little time...I am happy with the result, of course. Please do submit your feedback...and I'll give you all the virtual cookies you desire! ^_^**

**Chapter 4 - Unjust Retribution **

"Now I trust you all are familiar with what's gonna go down here tonight..." intoned Case, standing before all those who called the camp their residence. "Our prisoner got himself free and decided to try and have his way with Quince; scared the lady half to death, and we're dealing with him in the usual manner. _What say you_?" He ended the small, yet false reiteration in a much louder tone then what he had started with. From all around were voiced the shouts of approval concerning his proposition, though, as Jake stayed in his forced place, he noticed that not all of them had the exultant grins that their fellow camp-mates had on their faces. Clearly it could only mean one thing, an obvious thing at that.

The "usual manner" had to be far from pleasant. That much was expected.

Near Case, Quince beckoned a man to her and said something to him, at which he nodded correspondingly, leaving her side and making his way around until he was directly beside Jake.

Case concluded, "Well then, gentlemen...and Quince, let's get on with it!"

Even louder, more jubilant endorsement followed Case's words, and all of the sudden Jake was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved out a short distance from the rest of the people. The man Quince had spoken to was named Avery, who he had learned had the nickname Rod - for reasons of which he was uninformed, much to his surreptitious gratitude - and he walked up to him, very close in fact, reaching out. His hands began to fumble with the buttons on the fitted vest Jake wore, and on impulse those hands were assertively batted away by the owner of the attire. Avery glowered deeply, and looked about ready to act out in a violence of his own when none other than Riley Miller timidly showed up on the scene.

"Hey, Rod, just do your job." Riley stated, putting on a brave air.

Avery vehemently kicked dust at him in response. "You got some _sand_ Miller," he spat, "showing your face like you don't know what's happenin'. You'll get right lickfingered when your man here is brought down. I hope you know that."

"I know that, I do," he confirmed, "but you wanna let me explain to him what he has to do while you're going about your business?"

"Not really, but I don't want to put up the effort to stop you," snorted Avery.

Riley looked straight at Jake then. "Can you let him?"

"Why?" Jake retorted, livid enough as it was.

"I'll tell you, just let him or it'll go even less well for you!"

With a sharp and annoyed exhale, Jake lowered his arms from their previous defensive position and Avery went back to what he was doing, finishing with the buttons on the vest. "Start talking," he growled, slipping his arms somewhat compliantly from the article of clothing.

"Out here it's the custom for an accused man to be sentenced to a death fight with our best. His names' Baylor Hayes - he's real sick. And I mean _real_."

Avery gave up on the tedious procedure with the long-sleeved white shirt and simply ripped it down the side in one quick motion. Jake shot a glare at him, but remained without comment. The torn garment was discarded with the vest on the ground, leaving the accused man feeling even more exposed than he had when they had taken his hat to begin with. Riley had paused, and Avery eyed his torso spitefully, gaze settling on the horizontal scar on the right, directly under his ribcage.

"Where'd you get that nasty lookin' scar, Old Scratch?"

No answer. _He has no idea who he's calling the devil_...

Riley cleared his throat, undoubtedly uncomfortable. "He like's all his opponents to be showing skin, so that...so that...ah..."

"So that he can see their blood when he beats them," Avery picked up, saying it much more wickedly than Riley ever would have, changing subjects subsequently, "I don't think you got any weapons in them pants of yours do you?" He paused, and then corrected himself with a dose of loutish humor, "Well, not the kind I'm supposed to be lookin' for anyway..." He returned to the previous subject at hand as if he had never left it.

"Baylor is _such_ a _nice_ fellow to know. Pray he'll kill you quickly, Scratch. Pray like your mama taught you." Avery looped around Jake and pushed him forward again, with Riley beside him.

"Just...Just...I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

"Why? 'Cause you didn't chain me tight?" Jake replied, under no inward vow not to speak with Riley. He extended an arm as they walked very close to the crowd again, surprisingly not bound behind his back in the haste to give out punishment. "Jake," he said lowly, and Riley caught on, taking his hand and gripping it tightly as if meeting for the first time.

"No hard feelings then, Jake?"

"None yet."

And then, just like that, Riley disappeared, leaving Jake with Avery and the eyes of the group they approached. They had formed a large circle, and Jake was once again shoved forward into it, Avery taking his place among the onlookers. It took a moment for the accused man to take a visual sweep of all who watched him, finding Case and Quince were the ones boring him with the most intense gazes. Once again, the woman said something solemnly to the group's leader, and he, in turn, raised an eyebrow with what seemed to be a heavy amount of disbelief. Case shook his head after that, stepping out into the circle to join Jake. They revisited their concentrated staring contest, each with equally remorseless eyes, colored wintry blue and deep, threatening brown.

"Allow me to explain what goes on here with you," Case told him roughly.

"I already know," was Jake's firm reply, heard by few.

"Oh! Well then, I reckon we can get on with it then!" He made a sweeping motion with his arms. "He knows what's gonna happen, so, let the fight begin!"

There was no warning, as was anticipated, but when the sudden powerful blow took him from behind almost directly after Case had gotten the last word in, Jake was on the ground in the blink of an eye. But in that same time, he jumped back to his feet, spinning around to face his attacker. Baylor Hayes, as Riley had notified him, was indeed, a big man. Gigantic even. A good foot taller than Jake and a literal gorilla in physicality. One of his eyes was grotesquely missing, evidently polluted for quite some time. It hit the accused one then, just how true it had been when it had been implied that no one ever lived against him. They circled each other, and before he knew it, Jake's back was in the dirt again, the crushing fists slamming into his skull again and again without relent. Through it all, he raised one arm and punched Baylor as brutally as he could in the jaw, but even that could not stop him. So he punched him again, and again, and with each of his own, the ones being directed at him became more atrocious still. Finally, it appeared to have some effect on him, for Baylor rose to his feet and cracked his neck from side to side. Not hurt - preparing for round two.

Jake strained to get up from the now gore splattered ground, using his arms to force his body up. When he was standing, he spat the accumulation of blood from his mouth, surprised that his teeth were all still in tact, as well as bones. He swiped a hand across his face, smearing the red substance and grime across it with the feeble attempt. If the misery he currently experienced was the first of much more, he would have high-tailed it out of there...like a coward. Jake Lonergan was not a coward. For that, he cursed himself for what seemed like the hundredth time in his three day stay at the camp, and carefully took into consideration the situation. Past where Baylor stood, eyes locked on him like a buzzard to a carcass, there was an onlooker with a shotgun, doubling as a sort of support to lean on. The possibilities...

"That's a right pretty scar you got there," Baylor remarked in a mocking voice befitting to his frame, a nasty smirk stretching the corners of his lips.

"I could say the same about your eye."

"Oh, now, the fogys' got himself a voice, here..."

Baylor had waited long enough, and dove at Jake again with his bloodied fingers outstretched for his victim's neck. In that second, there was perceived a mark on the back of both of Baylor's hands, different, yet disturbingly matching. Jake was prepared, despite his seeing this, and moved out of the boor's way. Baylor twisted to catch Jake, but was too late, crashing to the earth like a boulder.

Feeling the need to, Jake spit on his opponent's bare back as he lay there, followed by a callous series of kicks in the ribs, a tactic he had experienced many a time; a tactic he knew would cause pain if prolonged. Baylor's one hand caught his ankle, dragging him to the ground with him before he could do any more damage. Jake rolled to the right, away from him and in the direction of the man with the shotgun, but was pursued with the utmost dilution. Massive arms crashed down upon his chest to prohibit any more means of escape, high enough for Jake to take a shamefully feminine rout and bite into one of them, ripping off a hunk of flesh. Lifeblood poured from the abrupt wound onto he who had caused it. Baylor grimaced violently, but did not remove either arm. By then, both were stained with each other's blood.

It was obvious by the crowd's detached state that they were not familiarized with such intensity from both parties in a death fight.

Baylor clambered up so that he sat well above Jake and gave him a repeat of the prior facial thrashing he had received, until the sufferer's fingers found his good eye. Wrenching away, Baylor covered it, looking very surprised. This gave Jake the time he needed to close the distance between him and the shotgun-holding man, ceasing the weapon much to the owner's alarm, and gripping it by the barrel, much like he had only just done in his confrontation with Quince. He stood above Baylor, who had regained his sight and went to stand, but was too late. The gun was used as a club, and with it Jake repeatedly brought it down onto the bleeding, dirty body of Baylor Hayes. Through it all, the man on the receiving end of the beating stood against the pain and made a move. In the same moment did Jake take up the shotgun in the correct fashion, cock it - praying that it was loaded - and pull the trigger.

Time stilled.

The close range caused the bullet to enter Baylor's upper torso and exit through his back. The skin around the place where it hit seemed to splinter. He looked down at it with a mixture of confusion and horror, then up at the battered and bloodstained man whom he had been expected to kill. Jake took one look at him, and contemptuously shot him again, giving him a much needed shove backwards with the barrel. Baylor hit the ground, shuddering only once, then expiring.

No one made a sound. Not one utterance.

Jake had won. Baylor was dead. It was, by far, wholly unexpected.

"I did him in. Can I go free now?" He broke the silence disdainfully, throwing the shotgun down beside the dead body and crossing his arms across his nauseatingly bloody chest. It occurred to him that he must have looked like he had come from hell to those who played the part of spectators.

Case emerged again, face contorted with an indignation so great that it was practically screaming all on its own. "This was not supposed to happen."

_Obviously_! Jake nearly yelled at him.

"This has _never_ happened," he furthered.

"You want him shot, Case?" asked Carson keenly, infuriated as his brother was.

Case raised a hand touchily. "_No_. No one touches him." He took deep, livid breaths and then commanded piercingly, "Somebody bring out Riley Miller! _Now_!"

Jake stood stiffly straight when Riley was ruthlessly jostled into the company of the two men in the circle, and pushed down onto his knees. He whimpered softly, and Jake could only wonder what was about to happen to him.

His answer came when the same shotgun he had just killed Baylor with was pressed into his hands by a very outraged Case.

"Kill 'im." He was directed.

Jake's mouth opened only just in response, and he slowly shook his head. _No sir, I can't do that_...He thought resolutely, not saying it aloud.

The glare Case gave was heartless. "The winner was gonna kill him anyway. We just didn't expect it to be _you_. His _buddy_."

Riley, with eyes wide, begged, "No, please! I just wanted him to be comfortable is all! I never meant for him to escape and - "

"Shut your mouth, Miller, or I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you!" came Carson's voice again, "What happened to your promise, Case?"

"Remind me again..."

"Castration?"

"Ah." Case did not smile at all. "No. I will break that promise. The winner is to kill him, and so he will. Won't you...?"

"No," Jake countered.

How could he? He might have been apathetic to most things, but he knew who his few friends were, and Riley just happened to be one of them. He could never murder someone who was an ally, if even for a short time, to him. It would have to be the product of some ill insanity, and Jake was quite sure he was still sensible enough to resist the demands of his captors.

There was a tense silence for a second time.

"Well," Carson broke it at last, "I'm not waitin' any more." He stormed out towards Riley, a pistol in his hand, finger on the trigger.

"Stop!" His brother raged. "You can't go against the plans!" He went to physically stop Carson, when the impossible happened.

There was a sound like no other. A haunting chorus of whispers that reached Jake's ears at a deafening pitch. He covered them firmly with his dirty hands and did a full turn. There were some that had the same reaction as he, and there were some that stood tall. The ones that were unaffected all took the same stance - with the back of their one hand pressed against the other in front of them. Their faces were austere and their eyes seemed to glow with a fire that only the devil himself could have provided. He counted sixteen of them in total, positioned impassively among those of their fellow camp members who showed the pain that the sound was causing Jake even as he tried to block it out.

On his second turn staggering in a circle, his eyes landed on a figure.

He saw something that deeply disturbed him.

Quince was one of those sixteen who were standing.

She looked as though she was waiting in all her darkness.

Waiting for something to happen.

...

...

**Wow, okay. There. I typed basically all of this in one night for you...and I'm currently far too exhausted to proof read. I shall do so tomorrow if I find the time. Please do enjoy otherwise! Have a nice day/night XD**


	5. A Fateful Casualty

**I simply adore you all for your feedback, my friends! I'm glad people are enjoying what I write! I do so enjoy writing it myself! So, if you would all do me the honor of continuing with this wonderful reviewing of yours, I believe we could all develop a marvelous friendship! Do enjoy!**

**Chapter 5 - A Fateful Casualty **

Jake fought back a verbal expression of the pain he experienced, ripping his eyes away from Quince and turning his attention to Riley, still on his knees in the dirt, sniveling like the frail man he was. Many reacted as he though, some even worse. It took all Jake's willpower to remain standing upright while the voices remained at their riotous level, and wrenching a severely unwilling hand away from his left ear, he dug his blood-covered fingers into Riley's shoulder. The weaker man struggled to raise his head against the torturous sensations he felt within it, but when his agonized stare landed on Jake, the camp's resident captive knew he had to make a move.

"_Get up_!" he shouted at Riley above the noise. "_Get up and follow me_!"

Riley whimpered like a dog, and stayed put. Acting then, Jake hauled him up off the ground and threw an arm around his back, dragging Riley along beside him at a furious pace. He tried feebly to cover his exposed ear with the side of his arm, but it was in vain, and he headed towards the edge of the human circle with only one ear concealed to muffle the deafening sound. No one seemed to mind when the two men shoved past them, given that they were all too preoccupied with their own suffering. But those who stood on the other hand, the ones closest to where Jake and Riley went to break free from the circle, congregated around them, and Jake was able to get a look at them. One did not have to study them closely to realize that something was dreadfully wrong with them, and that their eyes had started to shine like lightening bugs in the darkness, glistening not innocently, but unnervingly. Along with this there was a rage to them that could not be mistaken. Their mouths were ajar, breath coming out as ragged and shallow.

Jake's mind immediately went through all possible problems, but it was increasingly hard to think when he was attempting to do three things at once: save Riley and himself, keep the noise at bay, and avoid a direct run in with whatever the devilish humans were. Unfortunately when the came flocking to him, the third was a bit hard to prevent. Their cold, aggressive hands reached for him, and through the piercing voices that plagued his mind, one paramount one sounded.

_He mustn't be aloud to get away_..._Kill him now_...

And somehow, through all the terror that arose in him, all Jake could mentally formulate was, _People and things just love trying to kill me, don't they_?

Hanging onto Riley tighter still, he kicked out and struck the nearest crazed camp resident, receiving no reaction at all. The voices grew louder; he gritted his teeth, uncovered his other ear, and attacked the same person with his right fist, succeeding to do little but cause himself discomfort. Finally, with some reluctance, he released Riley and yelled at him from a close proximity, "Get yourself as far away as you can! Run straight and I'll catch up!"

Riley sputtered and shook his head in what seemed to be shock, but was propelled away in the direction Jake wanted him to go as soon as there was an opening in the surrounding, uncontrolled bodies. Despite his unwillingness at first, the more cowardly man started off as he had been instructed, leaving his stronger comrade behind. Unfortunately, however, none of the men who had previously been the sadistic camp members paid Jake any attention, turning the moment that Riley left their direct midst. With screams that only came from those of the inhuman persuasion, all sixteen of them, Quince included, descended upon the slowly retreating figure. Jake had a horrendous sense of dèjá-vu when he saw this happen, remembering his dream four nights earlier. It was not the aliens this time, though, nor was it the deceased Ella that they were swarming around like insects to a light. Riley was one that would not fight back, this Jake knew, and he proceeded with the sole intention of breaking one of the attackers' necks with his bare hands. He could do it well.

His fingers scarcely had to touch one of them at all though for him to know that Jake was there, intending on harming him. He spun around, revealing his face. Avery. No surprise there. Jake suspected that Baylor Hayes had been one of them too, but he had never gotten a look at his hands to see if the symbols had been there. Avery's wickedly gleaming eyes fixed Jake with a gimlet glare, and his mouth opened and closed, as if trying to produce speech. The voice that was, beyond a doubt, not his own, echoed around in his head like the other, more menacing one had just minutes ago.

_Jake_..._We're not who you think we are_..._We're creatures of hell_..._We'll kill you, and we will get great joy from it_..._The lives of mortals are ours to savor_...

Jake said nothing, trying again to wrap his hands around Avery's neck. It was a valiant effort, but Avery crushed his wrists and flipped him into the sandy ground below before he could even touch him. From the viewpoint, he looked over through the legs of the others who had crowded around Riley, but sorely wished he hadn't in hindsight. It would have been too late even if he had jumped to his feet and used all the power his human body could provide to fight back they who he had only just seen as regular individuals like himself, for they had gotten to him. All of their hands were on him. There were writhing fingers; shocked intakes of breath; utterances of pain from Riley's now gaping mouth. He spasmed violently against their tormenting, and then fell still, head rolling to the side to face Jake, eyes blank and clouded over disturbingly.

Even if it was futile now, Jake couldn't just stand by. They had taken Riley's life from him, and for someone who had experienced far more deaths than he cared to mention, it was another emotional blow that only solidified his inner fiendish will for retaliation. He contested them with all the strength he had left in him, and repeatedly, they made him crawl back up out of the dirt like an animal. They would not bleed like Baylor had, but then again, his opponent had been...regular when the fight had taken place. Against all sixteen of them, alone, he was next to powerless, but still he fought them, mind crying out for justice for those who had been given none at all.

It was as he lost consciousness, that the thought arose in his head.

Maybe Riley had been _meant_ to die in the first place.

...

...

Quince grabbed one of the crazed men by the collar and aggressively threw him out of her way, sickened by what the soul of Riley Miller had finally been like to consume. Of course, he had been the next to go for some while now, but the she had been unquestionably disappointed by the results. Such an innocent man should have been more...satisfying. Her thirst for a human essence had been quenched, her and her equals with her, but none of them had begun to settle yet. The people from the petty camp still squirmed like children beyond where the prisoner had passed out, bested by the intense beating of more than half of the sixteen of them. Kneeling very slowly, Quince canted her head to the side, a guttural hiss rumbling up from the depths of her throat. She extended one, nailed finger and ran the back of it down the side of his bloody face, visually dissecting him. He was a fighter, perhaps too vigorous for his own good - that much was proven by his actions in the recent past.

With a shudder, Quince shut her eyes against the sudden ringing in her ears, signaling that the time of reckless abandon was through. All the others felt it too, some massaging their temples soothingly. Quince cast one more look over the captive and rose from her knee. Avery walked up beside her and nodded approvingly. She stretched her arms wearily, rolling her shoulders.

"Someone should get him," she said in a nonchalant sort of way, referring to either of the bodies laying near. Avery only showed his agreement, but didn't say anything. Quince left him and walked back into the presence of those who were only just recovering from the shock of what had just happened. It was clear that they had gone through it before, but one could never be prepared for when the strange, sixteen people brought the torture down upon them so they could handle another "target". That was what they were known as. Well, between Case and she and her close, equal acquaintances.

Case and Carson were both looking a little worse for wear as she approached them steadily, keeping a neutral facial expression as not to induce any agitation. If Case felt any unease, he hid it well, and faced her fully, while his brother struggled to do so, keep his eyes down at his feet.

"Riley Miller has been dealt with like you said," Quince stated with a little smirk, winding her arms around Case's neck. "And just in time too..."

Carson got her message before she even looked at him, and shambled away to join his hunting posse.

"What about our wayward hostage? He still here?"

"He is, don't you worry. We made sure of that, but he's a tough one, not at all like the coward he was trying to save."

Case winced against his headache, but rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well...Riley had it comin'."

But Quince was drawn to the way he cringed at the discomfort in his head. She feigned an overly concerned frown, "You're hurting, I can see it, Case."

"Psh. Me and everyone else, darlin'. It's expected, see."

"Yes," Quince dropped her arms at her sides. "The dead body has to be burned, and we'll need to do something about the prisoner."

Stroking his chin, Case forced a shrug, "I'd say kill him, but since Baylors' dead, all previous loopholes from the deal went with him."

"We will wait, and then, when the time comes, we'll do what you want. For now, just leave him be. No more tying him up. No more rules. If it is not what is supposed to happen, it won't."

Quince knew things would start to change very soon, just like she had been waiting on for so long.

...

...

**I know, I'm evil for decreasing your Jake time! But I've been wanting to write something from Quince's twisted perspective for some time, and so I decided it would fit in good here! I hope you have a better insight or reservations on what exactly is wrong with these people...Please do take the time to review, my illustrious friends! **


	6. Beliefs and Unfriendly Banter

**Many apologies for the time it took me to write this one! School has only just started - a pain to be sure, and has left me little time to write and tremendously exhausted. So, sorry, school tends to do that to me. I looked back on the previous chapter and found myself wondering: "What was I on?" I wrote it late at night, and when I saw that I had killed off poor Riley, I was genuinely sad. I mean, I remembered that I had, but it really didn't sink in...RIP Riley Miller *sniffs* Now on with the sixth installment!**

**Chapter 6 - Beliefs and Unfriendly Banter**

The sunlight burned through Jake's eyelids as he regained consciousness. It had to be midday by that point. He groaned at the splitting headache that greeted him, raising both hands to massage his temples. As he slowly opened his eyes, he saw immediately that someone had been considerate enough to cover his upper body with a thin blanket, shielding his vulnerable flesh from the harsh heat of the day. He sat up, finding that he was restrained in no way, and was simply placed on the ground in the midst of the rest of the camp peoples' sleeping locations, no longer near the tree they had previously tied him to in the least. Dropping his hands from the sides of his head, he pulled the blanket from over his torso to discover that he was still battered and covered in dry, darkened blood, caked on him like a second, unwelcome skin. He dragged a dirty index finger over a particularly prominent area of the desiccated, red body fluid. It followed in a line of powder behind his fingertip, eliciting an audible sigh from the man.

The sound of footfalls behind him caused him to twist around, inquisitive as to who produced them. It was Avery, approaching with somewhat of an insincere atmosphere about him, odds on obligated to speak with Jake again. Draped over his arm was the newest camp affiliate's vest - his white shirt was nowhere to be found. Another, subdued sigh escaped his mouth at its absence; he would most certainly have to get another one.

"Done wasting away, I see," Avery noted mordantly. "Here," he threw the vest from the crook of his arm down onto the ground beside Jake, "you want this, I take it."

He had said no such thing, but wasn't complaining. Jake shrugged in response, picking the piece of clothing up and placing it haphazardly in his lap, leaning back on his arms then and fighting back a wince, initiated by the ache in his head.

Avery growled intolerantly. "If you're not talkin', don't expect to get anything good outta here, Scratch."

The nickname was thought to be strange, taking into consideration the fact that Avery knew his real name. Maybe he was reluctant to use it, maybe not. Jake betted on the latter - Avery seemed more clever than he let on, especially after what he had seen the night before. He had been one of them. One of the sixteen who had killed Riley. Jake didn't know how they did it, but one moment Riley had been very much alive, and the next, his head had rolled to the side, a lifeless haze clouding his eyes. They killed him without leaving so much as one mark. That left things to be questioned, no doubt there. Something was very wrong with the sixteen he had seen, the voices he had heard in his head had told him that much. Still, he felt sorry for Riley, someone who had done nothing wrong, yet lost his life. Another reminder of why life in general wasn't fair.

"I wanna wash off," asserted Jake. "Where's water I can use?"

Avery's lip curled in a wordless sneer. He gestured for Jake to follow him.

As it turned out, there was an abundance of water in the camp, probably from some nearby source that groups rode out to frequently to collect it from. It was kept in a variety of containers, all covered - some in what shade was available as well - so the precious liquid inside would not evaporate. After Avery had drilled information into his head about how overusing what they had was not allowed, Jake was left on his own with another small bucket of water, like two days before when in the presence of Riley, and his bare hands, as good of a means of scrubbing away the dried blood as he was going to get. He bent over, cupping his right hand with water and throwing it over his chest, seeking out privacy visually, though he knew there to be none. No one appeared to be in the immediate area, which made him a bit more relaxed, but any place where there were people who could catch him at such a susceptible time brought him great discomfort. It had already happened once - he intended to not let it happen again. These thoughts made him try harder to get the blood off of his skin faster, then he could go about acquiring a shirt...and his hat while he was at it. He couldn't forget the hat that had been taken from him.

It was a difficult process, but finally, Jake was satisfied with the results of his work. He was no longer covered in the galling red substance, and felt exceptionally more clean. He was quick to slip the vest over his shoulders and button it - a lot of good that did! It occurred to him that he shouldn't be so concerned about being so scarcely exposed, seeing as most people in the camp probably would not care anyway, but as a lone wolf by nature, he didn't like the feeling it gave him. Using the last of the water on the back of his neck, which felt like it was burning up, he wondered arbitrarily what he should do next. He privately wished that Riley was still around to help him. He knew he had to learn how to live in the camp, at least until he reobtained Paytah from wherever the horse had gone.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or do you need assistance?" The infuriatingly familiar voice of a woman pierced through his musings.

His head shot up, and he glared daggers at her. The look begged answers to the question: _How can you even glance at me without feeling guilty_?

"I know, I know, you don't talk much, and that you don't like me any. I'm perfectly fine with that."

Jake grunted curtly, turning his face away, but not lessening the harsh expression he exhibited. He wanted Quince to get away from him, and he knew that if he ignored her she would eventually leave him alone, although all she presumably wanted to do was rile him up. As if she, such a wicked woman, did not have ulterior motives behind anything she did! 'Perfectly fine with it' indeed! She was one of the slue who had inexplicably murdered an innocent man - she could not merely go about saying things in such a flippant tone of voice. Thinking about it, he promptly abandoned his previous plan of discounting her and interrupted her roughly, half way through her nest sentence.

"Avery didn't give you much slate did he? That coot was told to be - "

"Would you shut your mouth and crawl back to whatever bed-house you came from?" He snapped, respect for the softer gender all but disregarded as he headed away from her. Quince followed, quite taken aback, but not willing to let up on him. He meandered into a more public area of the camp; the men who saw him stared, even more interested when they saw the boss's girl following him at a steady gait, face displaying her impatience.

"I know your name," she said from behind him when he had located the tree they had tied him to and was seated beneath it.

Jake tilted his head sardonically, "Oh, well that's right funny there, 'cause coincidently, _I know your's too_, Miss."

"No. You don't."

"Your names' Quince, ain't it?"

"That's my last name."

He sighed for what felt like the millionth time since he had been brought onto the premises. "Stop talkin' to me."

"Why? You annoyed?"

"I was thinking about killing you the way you killed Riley Miller right about now..." He met her gaze, finding that her eyes were a peculiar shade of amber. Disturbing - just like everything about the night before had been. She took a step backwards, not in panic, but as an involuntary, preventative measure. Raising one hand, she pushed behind her ear a stubborn piece of hair that had somehow fallen free of the security of her hat.

"We don't talk about that anymore, Jake - "

"Don't call me _anything_, you filthy _whore_!" Jake visibly stiffened when he heard the name pronounced, and his reaction was neither thought-out, nor weakly stated. He had shouted it, calling her that which he had sworn not to utter again. It was remorseless, aggressive, and even after the designation had left his mouth, he felt no culpability about it. This was no reputable woman. This was something _else_. Something sinister was at work behind her, and he had every right to call her that and so much more after she and her band of possessed louts had taken the life of a man he was beginning to call a friend.

Quince looked like she was holding something back, but remained entirely composed, eyeing the seething man with a kind of emotionless concentration.

Finally, "You can do what you want now," she paused to swallow, "but keep in mind that you're being watched."

He was done talking to her - regretting even doing so in the first place. She studied him intently for a short moment, then went to leave him alone. He was thankful for this, as it should have been, and did nothing that would have discouraged her from doing so. He kept a close eye on her as she was walking away to reassure himself that she wouldn't do anything unfavorable - his suspicions had been raised at how calm she had stayed throughout the last few minutes. When she was almost out of sight, Jake saw her adjust the brim of her hat, reminding him that he still needed to attain his own.

...

...

**Kay! It's now almost 1:30 in the morning where I am! That's how much I love you guys! I've been sitting here at my desk since, like, 10, typing this up to assure you that I'm not dead. So, I hope you enjoyed this! Please review and show me the love!**


	7. Nighttime Troubles

**Well hello there! It has been awhile, has it not? At least it has not been months and months like it was with my original (completed if you must know) Star Wars story on this site...on another profile obviously. Anyway, I shan't bore you anymore with gratuitous details. I wrote this in biology class haha! I am a horrid person. V.V shaaame! Teehee! Please do enjoy and review pretty please *bats eyelashes***

**Chapter 7 - Nighttime Troubles **

Things began to grow more unsettling - not as if it was not an uneasy atmosphere before. The camp became quieter. Even Carson and his shiftily sinister brother were not to be heard. Quince, first name unknown, was mysteriously absent, many faces gone with her. Sixteen, no doubt. Jake, unfortunately, came to find that the one man who he had last seen with his hat had gone with them, or rather was one of them. He had nothing to occupy his time, and had no option to leave; the horses were minded unceasingly. Carson hadn't even come around to insult his refusing to kill Riley. They appeared to be ignoring him all together. He _did_ get food, but no one bothered him. So he hung about, utterly alone, though nothing was overly wrong with that...

One night, he reckoned about two weeks into his stay, the sixteen came back. Despite his sworn repugnance to her, he found himself visually scanning the group for Quince, but she was nowhere in sight. Consequently, neither was Case. Well, that took care of _that_ then. Jake sat back against the rock where he usually ate, and watched as Avery scoffed and puffed out his chest like a surprised horned lizard at a poor fellow who looked to have asked him a question. Jake gave the tiniest of scoffs, one that would surely go unheard by someone so far away, but obviously that was not the case, as he soon found. The returned man's head snapped to look at Jake then, his face in an unpleasant grimace.

Jake only nodded slightly, his own expression deadpan. Avery's hands clenched into fists and he forgot all about the individual who he was previously close to blowing up at. He walked towards where Jake sat on the ground, as mean looking as Carson on a bad day - which was absolutely seething.

"Why you lookin' at me, Scratch?" hissed Avery, looming over him. "You lookin' for a fight?"

Jake shook his head, "No sir, I ain't."

"But I think you were!"

He suppressed an eye roll. "I don't want a problem."

"Well you shoulda thought of that before you _looked_ at me!"

Exhaling quietly, but with no less displeasure, Jake simply looked at the ground, as he often did. He withdrew any attention from Avery in all of his ire. He felt the precense gradually druft away from before him, albeit reluctantly. Raising his heavy gaze after a moment, he caught many of the recently arrived sixteen with their eyes on him, gaping as if he had just done something extraordinary. It was not like they had only discovered him that night - unless some..._odd _thing had gone down those many days they had been away from the camp.

When Avery threatened them using his diversely colorful vocabulary, however, they went on their ways, and Jake, rising to his feet, went to the place where he slept, under the tree, as it was. He had moved the place a few days back, liking the seclusion given by th ebushes surrounding the tree.

...

...

"_Jake_! _Jake_,_ wake up_! _For Christ's sake_, _snap out of it_!"

Jake felt his arms react before he even opened his eyes. His hands found the neck of the speaker on impulse, fingers wrapping around it tightly. He awoke, eyes blazing from the effect of the dream he had experienced. When he saw Quince's eerily calm face a couple feet above, he briefly entertained the idea that it wouldn't really be so bad to simply choke her and be rid of the problem, but...there was that pesky "woman" rule getting in his way. If he was to be accused for his thoughts, they would have hung him long ago.

He let her go. "What do you want?" said Jake gruffly.

She swiftly sat back, and only then did he realize that she had been hovering over him, both hands on either side of his shoulders. It troubled him.

"You were thrashing around like a _lunatic_."

"Is that so?" He mumbled, hardly loud enough for her to hear.

She went on, disregarding him if she _had_ heard the question. "It was disturbing and Case made me check on you."

Jake gave a small "Mhm," and turned over onto his side as to not have her in his direct line of sight. He closed his eyes once more, making an effort to go back to sleep, but discovered that he couldn't, for he felt her studying him. After a long period of time without any conversation he questioned brusquely, "Are you just gonna sit there starin' at me, lady, or do you got something important to say?"

"What were you dreaming about?"

"None of your business."

"Tell me..."

He said nothing, not feeling obligated to talk. Quince moved around to the side he was facing and sat back down. She rested a hand on his shoulder - it was an unpleasant sensation in his skin, made worse when she ran her fingers down his arm. What was she trying to accomplish? He wasn't susceptible to brash attempts at whatever queer form of seduction she was instigating. If he wanted such things - which was rare, anyway - he got it, or so he had been told in regards to his past. He had not involve himself in such..._physical_ relationships in a long time. Did Quince really, truly think that he was _that_ needy? _That_ deprived? Though it had been some time, indeed, he was not as weak as other men, and saw right through the shallow guise she had constructed, distinguishing it for what it really was: a ploy to get information out of him. To learn what it had been that he dreamt.

He could not have been more repulsed by at all.

"Stop that," he bit, shifting so that she could no longer touch him, "I'll break your arm if you touch me again, _I do swear_."

She produced a very girlish and innocent giggle, replying in a hauntingly sing-songy voice, "But I thought you _liked_ whores! Remember _Alice_...?"

Darkness had seeped into her tone when she reached the last word, that childish innocence for even the perverse - yet false - accusation gone without a trace to be found. Only then did he discover that he had bolted upright, fingers digging into the dirt, posture as rigid as the spine of a mad dog. Quince's facial manifestation did not change. It never did. The moon was bright, providing more light than before, when he had first met her face to face. Her eyes did not once flicker with any kind of emotion, nor did her mouth turn either up or down from its blasted, perpetual planeness.

Through it all, one important question rang true: how did she _know_ about Alice? _How did she know_? Jake's mind flashed back to Riley's death - the way she and the sixteen had crowded around him; the way he had been untouched. The voice that he had heard when he had gazed at Avery for answers. The voice that had made him think he was insane, but never really proved anything. And now, here she was, indicting him with her tainted delusions and mockery.

"How...how do you know about her?" he verbally fumbled in the beginning of the inquiry, his resentment and perplexity as high levels. "You shouldn't know anything about me or what was in my past!"

A slight shrug, "Someone has to, since you don't remember much yourself."

"_I remember enough_!"

The silence around them echoed from the volume of his voice. He breathed deeply, looking this way and that, trying to calm himself. It was difficult - _very_ difficult. Quince observed him serenely, dangerously so. He wanted peace. He wanted it so bad. But it seemed that everywhere he went there was something to prohibit that, both the inner _and_ outer sort.

"I remember enough..." he began again, quieter; more solemn, "...to know that you're a _liar_."

She blinked once. "Tell me your dream."

He looked at his hands while he pulled his fingers from where they had buried themselves in the dirt and sand. "No."

Discounting how he had threatened her before, she raised her hand to touch his shoulder again, but this time he caught her wrist, meeting her eyes with a heartless power in his own. He did so for only an instant, then dropped his gaze to the back of her hand, which he lowered before himself. On the back of it was a thin, dulled black circle. He inspected it closely, and ran his thumb over it roughly. Jake then took her other wrist, keeping a firm hold on the first. On the back of the second there was an ornate, five pointed star, whose parts were interwoven like they had been carved right into her skin. It too was a deadened black. He looked back and forth at them, then forced her to turn her one wrist so that the back of the first hand would meet evenly with the back of the second.

"Stop!" she hissed, attempting to yank her arms away from his grip. His hands were much larger than hers, wrapping around both wrists in their entirety. His hold did not yield to her sudden outburst of opposition. Even so, he paused, the two marks inches from one another.

"Scared of somethin' are we?"

She glared.

"Will what happened awhile ago the night I killed Hayes happen again if I do?"

Quince's glower only deepened. "I'll kill you, Jake Lonergan. I'll kill you without a second thought and no one will care. You know why? 'Cause they'll all die too. All the others will join in, and soon there'll be no one left but us. _No one_. That's what'll happen if you so much as move my hands another _centimeter_ together!"

Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers uncurled from around her wrists, the tips of them running inattentively across her skin. She withdrew her arms in a rush, forgetting how willing she had been just moments ago to have physical contact with him. He noted how different she was since the time she had awoken him, how her apparently nonexistent emotions were revealed in the form of something much darker...more baleful.

"Avery called your little _group_ creatures of hell. That true? _That_ how you know all you do?"

She smirked, but not in the mischievous or coy way he had seem so many other women smirk in. It was full of malevolence.

"Tell me," she started absentmindedly, but the wicked grin never left her face, "have you seen that hummingbird you were so fond of out here?"

Somewhere, deep down inside, Jake secretly, childishly wished this was still the nightmare he had only just had.

...

...

**I really haven't meant to make this story solely focused on the interactions of those two, but it has turned out that way thus far. Not to worry though, everything has started to get chaotic for our dear sexy male protagonist now that he might just know what he's dealing with. **

**Stick around...in the next chapters we will find out what exactly Jake was dreaming about, and more about his past I hope, not to mention...other-things-that-I-can't-mention-because-then-I-would-have-to-hunt-you-down-and-kill-you-for-knowing-my-secrets! *takes breath***

**Reviews are like the Advil to the headache school causes! ^_^**


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